Not Nice
by SSSP-shhh
Summary: Isabelle wasn't nice.  She never had been.  And she certainly wasn't now, now that he'd chosen the other girl...  Simon/Isabelle


**Hello, it's M! No, not M the rating, M the author. (Look out our profile and things will magically clear up!)**

**Simon and Isabelle are just stuck in my head right now! I wrote this fic in a little over an hour and didn't do any massive editing... So, tell me about typos!**

**I'm setting this after the Mortal Instruments. Basically, the thought is that Simon chose Maia over Isabelle... and this is the result. All three of our love triangle have become significantly darker people... and why don't you just read and see what happens? :D**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare has red hair, damn it. I only wish I could be that cool.**

...

Fucking a guy in the backseat of another guy's car wasn't a very nice thing to do. But then again, she'd never classified herself as nice. She'd always been too rebellious, too edgy for that. Nice was so C-list. Being nice got you killed.

It was some nameless mundane. She couldn't even remember his name as she climaxed. He was good though, as well as good looking, and those were the only requirements she made.

She pulled her underwear back up the minute they were done and smoothed her skirt down over her legs.

"Babe..." he panted. She rolled her eyes at her reflection in the car mirror. Always the same. It was as if sleeping with her gave them a right to touch her needlessly and call her pet names. That wasn't how it worked.

She flipped her long, dark hair back and examined her smudged make-up. "I need to get this car back to my friend in a half hour."

"Oh." They were always shocked when she kicked them out, with no cuddling or sentimentality. As if they thought they could keep her for a minute longer than necessary.

He rummaged around in the back for his shirt and belt, as she fixed her make-up, licking her fingers so she could rub away any blotches or spots. He hesitated before leaving, a pause for a goodbye kiss or a lasting glance. She ignored him, pulling out a hair brush to smooth her midnight tresses. He left wordlessly, trudging out of the parking lot alone.

She stretched. It felt so good, as always. Her body was lean and pliant after sex, and her skin glowed. Simon would see it on her when she returned his car, would guess what had gone down in the backseat. Hopefully, he would be jealous.

His jealousy was not why she did it, only a convenient side-effect. She'd done it to prove something to herself, to her parents, to her brother, to her friends. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She could do whatever she wanted. She didn't have to be nice.

She put the car into drive and slammed on the gas pedal.

...

"Isabelle, really?" He was pissed. She could tell. She leaned back against the driver's side door, her face arranged innocently, but her body stretched to look as good as possible.

"What?" She wore the face of an angel.

"In my car. You... you..." He couldn't say it. He stammered.

She couldn't help it. She giggled. "What, Simon?" She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked up at him through her dark eyelashes. "What exactly are you accusing me of doing?"

"You... you... you..." If his face could've turned red, it would've. He hadn't changed all that much when he became a vampire. He was still Simon and he was still embarrassed. She loved torturing him, seeing him look unsure and flustered. As if she could pull him back towards her, for just a moment, with that confusion.

"Oh, you mean _that_," she teased. "Really, it's nothing. I don't see the big deal."

"In the back of _my_ car?" He was less flustered and more furious. She leaned in close.

"Yes." Her breath ghosted across his face. "In the back of your car."

There was moment, a second, where they both just stood there, her face inches from his. And then he jerked away.

"You can't... don't do it again, okay Isabelle?" He turned his face away, chin set. Nothing would change tonight. Isabelle looked up to see the other girl peering through the window of his house. She smiled and waved. The other girl ducked back behind the curtain, out of sight.

"Sure thing." She breezed by him, heading towards the subway, only a few blocks away.

He caught her elbow. "Look... Izzy, I..."

She refused to look at him, refused to let him make her weak. "Don't bother, Simon. We've been over this too many times already."

"Why do I feel like like too many isn't enough?" His grip was strong; he was a vampire, after all. But he always kept it loose enough for her to break free.

She pulled away from him, as they both knew she would. "Say hi to Maia for me."

"I will."

She walked away, didn't look back.

...

They'd been something. Almost. Twice.

The first time, he hadn't been sure enough. She'd been able to dominate him completely, pin him under her thumb within seconds. She'd been so tired of dominating. She wanted to be dominated.

The second time, he was in charge. It had been between her and another girl, the other girl. Maia, her friend and rival. Who'd have thought it would end up this way? Not her. Not her family. Certainly not Clary, Simon's best friend, who should've been able to tell. They'd all told her it was a sure thing. And then he picked Maia.

She should've known. She was too high-maintenance, too risky, too beautiful. She couldn't be categorized as easily as Maia could. She confused people. She confused him.

Her parents had been relieved. They'd introduced her to nice boys, Shadowhunter boys. She'd smiled and flirted and been utterly charming. She'd let each of them screw her in her own Institute, in various places. The bathroom, the weapon's room, the library. And then she'd sent them on their way, her make-up as flawless as ever, her heart untouched.

She and Simon were friends, supposedly, but she made it a point to never consider him a friend at all. He was a boy, just like any other boy, to be used and abused when it benefited her. She could not let him touch her anymore than they did. He was just another.

...

Maia showed up at the Institute the next day while Isabelle was doing her nails. Clary let her in.

"Simon was talking about sex last night," she informed Isabelle, flopping onto the bed. Isabelle didn't bother turning to look at her, focused on painting her nails the perfect red. Blood red. She imagined ripping Maia's throat out and allowed herself a small half-smile.

"That's good. Sex is healthy in relationships." She replied, spinning her chair around to face her supposed best friend. "It's the logical next step. And it's fun." She wiggled her eyebrows and Maia giggled uncharacteristically.

"I know, I know. But I've never done it before..." Maia's eyes sought Isabelle's. Isabelle searched her friend's eyes for any sign of the malice she knew was beneath. This was not a trip for advice. This was a trip to gloat.

"Don't worry about it. It's a breeze. Fun too. You'll enjoy yourself if he has any idea what he's doing. All you have to do is lie on your back and think of England." The paint on her fingernails was too light. It needed more darkness, more depth.

Maia shifted, trying to get her attention. "I think it's his first time too... they say a person never forgets their first."

Hers had been at three in the morning, in one of the bedrooms of the fairy court. Her lover had been attentive and careful, and had left a minute after, leaving her alone and deflowered under the new moon. She'd clutched her torn dress around her and slunk out, legs trembling and face flushed. It was an omen of all that was to come.

"Hmmm..." Isabelle hummed, as if she was listening. She drowned out Maia's words, turning slighting to look at her vanity. Her eyeliner extended a little farther on one side. She grabbed a brush to correct it.

"-tonight. I can't wait!" Maia grabbed her tattered, olive, army-inspired jacket and gave Isabelle a too-tight hug. "Send good thoughts my way."

"Sure." And she was gone. Isabelle was alone.

Simon and Maia. Maia and Simon. Their first time together. How cute. How simply precious.

She grabbed a crystal vial of perfume and tossed it across the room at her wall of mirrors. It landed in the center, and the mirror shattered into pieces.

She stared at the fragments of herself for hours before she moved to clean it up.

...

"Isabelle."

He appeared in her room the next day, his face pale, eyes dark.

"Isabelle."

She wouldn't look at him. He came up behind her. She could see him in her mirror.

"Isabelle."

"Calling my name over and over again isn't going to do anything, doofus." She tried to tease. Instead, it came out vicious.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are."

There was nothing more to say.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her out of her chair. She closed her eyes as his lips trailed down her neck, biting lightly at her collarbone. She ran her hands along his legs, felt his body behind hers.

He'd never been able to choose. Saying he had was a lie. It just meant that one girl got open acknowledgement. The other he kept in secret.

His hand worked it's way up to her chest, sliding under her shirt, pushing the lace of her bra aside to work anxiously at the nipple, squeezing and pinching and rubbing until her breathing came harder and her eyes were squeezed shut. He picked her up bridal style and dumped her on the bed, climbed on top of her.

Their breath mixed together, his unnecessary, hers strained. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gasped as he pushed her skirt up and slid her underwear down her legs. His pants went soon after. She looked at the ceiling as he pushed into her, their bodies joining.

He moved in and out and soon her cries could not be stifled. He clamped a hand over her mouth and she bit down, hoping he would hurt, hoping he would bleed. His movements hastened as the pain registered to him.

At the last second, they locked eyes. She never looked him in the eyes, on principle. But now she did. As she cried out his name and her body tighten around his, she allowed herself one look at him.

His eyes were big and round, dark and unhappy. The indecision, the cheating, were wearing on him. He was breaking.

She closed her eyes and came. She was satisfied.

...

**Just a little angsty. A little.**

**Review, tell me what you think! 'Rate it even if you hate it', as they say on Youtube.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Love, M**


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